The Warming Potion Incident
by Chaos-Rose
Summary: For those who asked - the initial skirmish mentioned in 'Through the Longest Watches of the Night.' Chapter 3 posted. The battle is joined.
1. Chapter one: The Initial Skirmish

Title: The Warming Potion Incident

Author: Chaos Rose

Email: [lady_rosa_chaotica@yahoo.com][1]

Rating: Softly R-ish for F/F arse-grabbing, implied patronage of a bordello. 

Category: Snape/OC. Humor and a little bit of backstory for 'Through the Longest Watches of the Night.'

Summary: For those who asked: The initial skirmish.

Disclaimer: I'm playing in J.K. Rowling's sandbox. 

~

The Warming Potion Incident

~

The snow fell quite prettily on Diagon Alley, dusting the shop canopies and streetlights with an ornamental highlighting of white. The windows displayed a wealth of holiday goods from robes that wrapped the wearer in golden light to My First Broom Kits for little children. People hurried from shop to shop, with almost a forced gaiety - who knew what might come with the setting of the sun?

Times were dark. Not as dark as they had been, but the darkness at the edge of the streetlights reminded some all too much of the siege that had been lifted a little over three years ago.

A girl in a red cloak paused under one of the street lamps, pushing her bronze wire-rimmed glasses to a more comfortable position on the bridge of her nose as she peered up at the sign of a shop. Chestnut curls had escaped her combs, and the wind plucked back her hood to play with them. Under the curls was a slightly triangular face with a prominent chin, a full mouth, and a pair of sharp hazel eyes. Her cheeks were pink with cold, as was the end of her nose, but even more annoying to her - her hands were freezing!

Her gloves were in one of the shops she had visited and the warming spell on a pair of stones in the pockets of her cloak had worn off some hours ago. Now as she peered around in the murk, she debated whether heading back to the Stag and Moon. There was still some shopping to do for her school chums, but her hands were so cold that they ached. 

"The shops here aren't as nice, anyway," she murmured, shifting her Cache & Carry-It-All on her arm. The entire day's haul was in that bag, and it had been by far the best thing that she had bought. The shopgirl had not been exaggerating when she claimed you could hide a body in there.

Emily Mayborne pulled the hood of her cloak back up and turned to go back to the better-lit part of Diagon Alley when a flood of light, laughter, and scent caught her attention. A particularly merry crowd of shoppers was exiting a storefront across the street, carrying many brightly wrapped packages and singing somewhat off key as they turned up...

Oh, dear. Aunt Meridy would have an eternal snit. "You're only just fourteen, dear! I don't want you exposed to those people and neither would your parents!"

Emily mentally kicked herself for not watching the shop signs. Her aunt had given specific instructions that she was not to go any farther than Miss Chuff's Accessories and Gadget, MacGuffin, and Widgets Books and Rarities; yet, here she was right on the corner of Knockturn Alley.

The shop windows glowed with a more subdued light than their fellows up the street, but sparkled nonetheless. Tiers upon tiers of glass bottles and jars filled the windows, their contents refracting the light in a stained-glass effect upon the sidewalk. 

Wondering if it was a new perfumery, Emily darted a nervous look up and down the street before stepping of the curb and hurrying across. Peering in the window, she smiled in utter delight as she read the label on the bottle.

"The very thing!" 

But... Knockturn Alley? 

The last time she had been in down this far, she had met Lord Malfoy, who had insisted on walking her back to the Stag. He tucked her arm though his, strolling back along the alley with her, stopping occasionally to brush a curl back from her face and comment on what a pretty little thing she was. 

She really did not want to meet him again. Not in the dark. 

And not when Artemisia Malfoy, his daughter and Emily's friend and year-mate at Hogwarts, had warned her never to be alone with him. Ever. 

Peering around one last time - and telling herself that the shop door was on Diagon, not Knockturn, really - she pulled it open and went in.

The shopgirl looked up at the sound of the bell and smiled. "Come on in, miss! Will ye have a cuppa or are ye lookin' for something a lilly bit warmer?"

It was warm in here, and all the reds and pinks made it seem too warm by half. The shopgirl did not seem to mind, though, as she was wearing a dress that bared her shoulders and a significant décolletage. Her brassy blonde hair fell in artistic ringlets seemingly placed as much to draw attention to her chest as to distract from her rather hard face.

"Thank you, but I just came in for the warming potion, please?" Emily pointed at the display table with its tiers of bottles. "Does it moisturize, as well?"

The woman goggled at her for a moment before putting on a smile that reminded her of the uppers about to pull a joke on an ickle firstie.

"Oh, yes, luv! It does wonders!" Coming out from behind the counter, she put her arm around Emily's shoulders in a very familiar manner and herded her to the display. "I reckon you've never felt anything quite like it."

Uncapping one of the bottles, the woman caught Emily's hand and turned it palm up to catch a thick amber drop before rubbing it in expertly. "See, Miss? All tingly, innit? Getting nice and warm for ye?" 

Emily cooed as warmth returned to her fingers and the ache faded. "Oh, that feels lovely! The scent is a bit strong..." And it was strong - heavily floral with a musky, smoky undertone to it. Maybe she could thin it out with some sweet oil?

"Oh, it settles a bit, but we have some lovely scents! Look! Here's OmniBerry, and Butterbeer, and Gingerlily, and..."

In the end, Emily wound up with five bottles of Warming Potion in various scents, a jar of Vanilla Cookie Body Butter ("For that narsty winter-dry skin, dearie.") and a few tubes of fruit-flavored Lip Smackers for good measure. 

"Now remember, lovey, just rub the potion into the bits you want to keep all warm and tingly." The shopgirl chortled as she rang up Emily's purchases and wrapped the items in red paper. "Have a lovely Christmas!"

Delighted with her warm hands and her purchases, Emily wished the lady a happy Christmas as she closed the shop door behind her.

~

The glitter and lights of the season faded into a very bitter and stormy January. The winds howled around Hogwarts' many towers like banshees - and there might have been one or two in the mix, at that. 

While the dorms, common rooms, public rooms and most of the classrooms were warm, there were some notable exceptions. The main part of Hogwarts had been built during the middle ages, and while it kept out the rain and snow, the hallways were very drafty. 

Then there were the dungeons. 

Used as classrooms for the more hazardous courses, the dungeons were bitterly cold. Most had some sort of heat source, but for one notable exception.

The Potions master - a man with a mysterious past, a graduate of Hogwarts, and a Slytherin to the core - never had a fire in the grate of either his classroom or office. With long, sleek, black locks and sharp features, Severus Snape swept about the lower levels of Hogwart's, scowling and solitary. If his features were sharp, his tongue was twice that - he honed it on his students from morning to night and used the rough edge to take strips off anyone he caught out after hours.

Those who had his classes in the morning could be seen trooping down the staircases, bundled up as if readying for a trek across Siberia. Those who ended the day with him came up sweating from exposure to the heat of his temper. 

This morning, a day when visibility was limited by what the students of had come to call snot storms - 'S'not rain an' s'not snow' - one could easily see one's breath in the dank stone corridors in the foundations of the school. 

The weather seemed to match Professor Snape's mood, as well; cold and throwing as much unpleasantness as he possibly could upon those whom had to brave his wrath.

The fourth year Slytherins and Ravenclaws filed in, each wrapped in as many layers as were required to stave off the damp, bone-penetrating chill of Snape's domain. Soft murmurs punctuated by yawns filled the classroom, soon joined by the rustling of scrolls and the thumps of books hitting worktables. 

"So how was your holiday?"

"Chasing tree frogs all over Borneo..."

"And then they wouldn't kiss! Stood there for hours..."

"Turned him blue! Hair and all."

"We covered that I think. Let me look at my notes."

"Chocolate-Mint Bombs all over the nursery..."

A tall, willow-slender girl in the green and silver of Slytherin entered the room, her white-blonde hair in a thick, waist-length braid. The murmuring dropped a notch as Artemisia Malfoy took her seat at the third worktable in the front tier. Some contended that the Malfoys must have the blood of high elves somewhere far back in their line and Artemisia gave credence to that rumor - her skin was pale, her grey eyes large, her features delicate enough to suggest fragility. 

Nothing could have been further from the truth. 

Artemisia LeStrange Malfoy held her position in the Slytherin hierarchy through steely will, a sound sense of alliances and utter ruthlessness. Even seventh-years regarded her with some trepidation. 

Opening her book bag, she laid out her parchment and quills, placed the textbook in the holder then promptly stuffed her thin, elegant hands into her armpits and shivered.

~ 

Staring resentfully at the empty fire grate, Artemisia considered casting a quick _flammus_. Cold was one thing she hated above all else and from January to March it was a pretty good guarantee of a bad temper. The corner of her mouth twitched into a scant smile. Most people thought that was her usual temper in any case - why break their precious illusions when they were so useful?

Students were still filing in as she weighed the consequences of the _flammus_. Snape was Slytherin and (so to speak) a friend of the family - he would never take points from either her or Slytherin, but he might deduct points from Ravenclaw for not stopping her.  

If the other House had been Gryffindor, she would not have hesitated a moment. Hufflepuff lost no opportunity to savage Slytherin when it could - only a fool thought that Hufflepuffs were duffers - so even her one friend in that House knew the status quo and could be quite creative.

A brunette with disorderly curls and a too-full book bag banged through the door and made a marginally controlled descent to the first tier. Under her black school robes, she wore the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw - and looked the part with her glasses slightly askew on her nose and her wand poking out of her skirt pocket.

Artemisia smiled outright now, watching her friend, Emily Mayborne. Certainly she looked the very model of a bookish and distracted Ravenclaw, but her wits were sharp and the impression of scarcely controlled chaos was a veneer over a very ordered - if somewhat innocent - mind.

The bag of books hit the floor next to Artemisia's feet, and the brunette began to set up a pewter cauldron in the middle of the worktable.

"I missed you on the train." 

"Drake wanted me to himself for a bit, the little snot missed me, so Mummy sent my trunk ahead and broomed me up." Artemisia spoke with deep affection. Drake - more properly, Draco - was her six year-old brother. The adoration was mutual and she spoiled him rotten, though as the Malfoy heir, odds were that the boy would get everything he wanted anyway.

Emily shook her head as she took her seat. "The little snot shows an early aptitude for blackmail, deception, and thievery. When he got my whole box of Peppermint Frogs..."

"He had a stomachache for three days and was so afraid of you after you threatened to kiss him in front of his mates..." She reached out to straighten Emily's glasses and began to tuck the stray curls back into order. Leaning in close, Artemisia took a deep sniff of her friend. Sugar cookies? "Mmm! You smell fresh from the oven, not the bath. What is that?"

"Oh! I found a new cosmetics shop on Diagon when I was doing my holiday shopping! Wait!" The overfull book bag was dumped across the desk and Emily began looking through the debris until she found an oddly shaped bottle, holding it up triumphantly. "Here!"

Artemisia looked at the label. Warming Potion? She'd never heard of the maker, either. "What? Do you have to drink it? Honestly, if it's not in a book you just fly right by! Emmy, if you've been letting people feed you strange potions..."

"Hush, Missy! I'm not that oblivious! It's for keeping your hands warm!"

Artemisia bowed her head in an utterly false show of penance and then threw herself on her friend, slipping her hands under Emily's school robes and grabbing a soft double handful of Emily's fundament. "But, sweeting," she said, brimming with mischief. "I've already got a lovely way to keep my poor hands warm."

Tittering filled the classroom. Artemisia grinned at her friend, then kissed the end of her nose.

Emily gave her a long, exasperated look. "I do realize that, Missy, but I doubt that Snape would ever approve your taking up residence in my robes just to keep warm. Now get your hands off my arse, you wicked creature!"

The room howled with laughter as Artemisia made a pouting show of disentangling herself. 

"See? You don't love me! Leaving me to freeze to death in a dungeon!" She mock-swooned onto the desk, wailing. "Me, your dearest friend..."

"Bloody mad Malfoy!" Emily growled. Pulling the stopper out of the bottle she caught a wayward hand, poured out a dollop of the amber liquid into the palm, and rubbed briskly.

Lovely, tingling warm spread through Artemisia's hand and she cooed in pleasure. "Oooh! Emmy!" Wiggling her fingers, she noted that the skin was now flushed a warm shell-pink. It felt heavenly! "Please...?" She held out her other hand, and Emily obligingly rubbed the oil in.  

The room was now silent. Artemisia flexed and wiggled her fingers as a strong, floral scent bloomed in the cold air. 

"It lasts about an hour." Emily pulled a dropper and vial from her bag, put a little of the potion into it, capped it and handed it to her. "Use this if it starts to wear off." 

The whole room stared in astonishment before bursting into a chorus of pleas. 

"Can I have a bit, Emmy?"

"Oh, please, Emily! My fingers are always falling off halfway into the lecture?"

"Please, Mayborne? I'll let you ride my new Nimbus! Whenever you want!"

"I don't care how it smells! I'd put my hands in a dragon's arse if it would keep them warm!"

The bottle made the rounds of the room, each user rubbing a little into their hands and taking a bit for later. The students were wiggling their fingers happily and, even as their breath plumed into the air in wispy clouds, all was well with the world. 

~

The door to Professor Snape's office opened and Emily immediately saw that not only had Professor Snape not had a merry Christmas, but a vile New Year's as well. He entered the room like an ill-tempered black cat, his glittering black eyes sweeping the assembled students with disdain. 

"I hope that you all found time to study your antidotes over the holidays. As the year goes on it becomes a greater temptation to poison the lot of you." In the midst of his stalk to the lectern, he paused, sniffing the air with a look of absolute offense. "What. Is. That?"

The room was silent. 

"What, you idiot children, is that smell?" Snape demanded as he swept from the podium and stalked up to the first tier, nostrils flaring. "It smells like a bloody wh... Miss Proudfoot! 

Marcella Proudfoot, a plump, olive-skinned Slytherin in the second tier, nearly fell out of her seat at Snape's bellow. Clutched in her hand was the bottle of potion, which she had tried to surreptitiously slip into her bag. Snape snatched it from her hand as her fingers wilted open.

"Madam Plushbottom's Warming Potion?!" Snape turned on Marcella as the girl looked about to dive under the desk and pull the dustbin over her head. A vein throbbed in his temple as he clenched the bottle in a white-knuckle grip. "Miss Proudfoot, from where did you obtain this... concoction?" 

Marcella opened her mouth but was interrupted as Emily leapt to her feet. "It's mine."

Snape was a bully, not to mention rude, nasty, sarcastic, and a general all-purpose bastard - but if his delicate sensibilities had been offended, then let him take it out on her. After all, she had been the one to bring it in. 

For a moment, Emily wasn't sure that he had heard her and ignoring Missy's insistent tugging at her skirt, opened her mouth again. "I said..."

"I heard you, Miss Mayborne." Snape's voice took on the silky tone that indicated an incipient skewering as he turned his sharp gaze upon her. "I now ask you the same question that I asked Miss Proudfoot; from where did you obtain this?"

Feeling the trap under her feet, and knowing that there was no escape, Emily opened her mouth to explain and was quite surprised to hear her own voice say, "That, sir, is none of your bloody business."

The collective gasp from the class made the torches flicker.

In a blur of black, he was in front of her and glaring down his aquiline nose. "Would you care to repeat that, little Ravenclaw chick?"

Something boiled to life in her blood, stiffened her knees and spine, and brought her chin up. "I said, 'none of your bloody business.'" 

Snape's tone was as intense as a shout, "You will smooth your feathers and your tongue with me, girl! You blithely come into my classroom, bearing a potion of dubious origin, and tell me that it is none of my business?" The dark-clad man's voice was cold rage. "Ten points from Ravenclaw, and another ten if you do not tell me immediately where you obtained this... stuff."

Well, in for a knut - in for a galleon. Perhaps she could get a little of her own back. In a dispassionate voice she asked, "Am I to understand, Professor Snape, that you wish me to tell you where to go?"

"That is my demand, Miss Mayborne."

Emily took her seat and smiled up at her professor. "In that case, sir, straight to hell would do nicely."

~

Possibly TBC. 

   [1]: mailto:lady_rosa_chaotica@yahoo.com



	2. Chapter two: The Foolery Continues

For those who asked – Round one, second half. The Foolery Continues. I hope that you enjoy, and please let me know what you think.

Chaos

Feedback feedback:

Alarun: Poor Snape is in for a very long run of frustration. I think you know what the potion is, he knows what the potion is, I know what the potion is, but… grin 

Snaped_Again and Werecat99: More, as per request. Thank you.

Lina Lupin: I think he's in his very early thirties here. 

~

The Warming Potion Incident

Chapter Two

~

~

"Now, Severus, I'm certain that Miss Mayborne will apologize for her little outburst…"

"I will no such thing! He got his robes in a twist over nothing!"

"A coerced apology is worse than an outright lie and I'll have none of it, Angus. Let Miss Mayborne consider the consequences of her rudeness and intransigence whilst cultivating a productive acquaintance with a scrubbing brush." 

~

And so it was. 

Emily was of a mind to hide in her four-poster with the curtains drawn and avoid dinner entirely. The loss of twenty-five house points was no small matter, nor was ten days of detention. She felt her disgrace quite keenly as she skulked her way back to Ravenclaw's tower.

Her dorm mates were, however, of another mind. 

The second she came through the door into Ravenclaw's common room, there came applause and whistles of approval. Emily looked behind her to see who they might be cheering and was immediately surrounded by chattering Ravenclaws. 

"You really told off Snape?"

"... told him to go straight to hell!"

"And here we always thought that she was the quiet one!"

"You all right, then, Emmy?"

"Dragged her out by the arm, her cursing him all the way."

"Wish someone'd had a camera... 

"Good lord, what a dustup!"

"Didn't think you had it in you, Mayborne!"

Hot cider and a huge slice of apple gateau were proffered, and the most comfortable wing chair by the fire vacated for her use.

"But I lost points!" Emily was miserable with that – they'd narrowly lost the House Cup to Gryffindor last year because Eugenia Edelbert had hexed Laurel Hathaway for kissing Henry Kelly.

"We're still in second place ahead of Slytherin and Gryffindor," Ellen Bellwood advised, "Those two are tied for third, and are going to fight it right down to dead last of they don't quit dueling at the drop of a hat."

Eric Pangley, one of Ravenclaw's prefects, nodded his agreement and petted Emily's shoulder. "The whole school's been itching to see Snape taken down," the young man laughed, "they just never expected our quiet little Emmy to be the one to do it."

That night she had something resembling a guard of honor when she went down to dinner. The boisterous, chattering crowd made its way into the Great Hall and to the Ravenclaw table en masse. Hufflepuff and Gryffindor stood up to look and she could hear 'Oi! Mayborne!' being called from the other tables. Even some at the Slytherin table were craning their heads for a look, or pointing and whispering.

Emily was so embarrassed that she wanted to fall through the floor. She never wanted notoriety, all her life she had been 'the quiet one,' or 'the bookish one,' or 'the shy one' of her family and classmates. Other people pulled off the stunts and jokes, other people cut up in class, but not her – she was just Emily. 

They moved to their tables as the teachers came filing in to the high table; Snape glowered at her as if all the fuss in the hall was at her instigation.

Once again, the irrational spark in her blood flashed to life and she drew herself up in imitation of Artemisia Malfoy at her most arrogant. Head high, shoulders back, Emily mimicked the gliding walk taught to aristocratic daughters by their governesses. She even managed an icy glare over the tops of her glasses before she turned to take her seat, flicking a sleeve of her black robe dismissively. The rest of the meal was spent fending off sweets and mumbling things she hoped were not utterly stupid when she was lauded for her behavior. 

After desert, the uppers left the hall to pursue whatever interests they had until curfew. The lowers headed off to common rooms under the supervision of their prefects. Emily stayed in her seat, toying with the last of her lemon tart, preparing for the first of ten long evenings with Snape - from seven to ten, every evening for the next ten days. Everyone was pleased as punch that she had told him off, but she didn't see anyone offering to take detention for her. 

"Well, lovey, quite the heroine tonight, aren't we?" Missy's hips bumped hers as she helped herself to a seat and some of Emmy's lemon tart. "Even some of we Slytherin are professing a sneaking admiration."

"Ah, Slytherin, where even the emotions are sneaking..."

"Oh, come now, Emmy! It could have been a lot worse." The blonde girl wound a finger in Emily's curls. "If you'd just have sat down and kept your temper, it all would have blown over. Marcella would have had a detention and you'd just have had to pay her back with a little tutoring."

"I didn't want to sit down! I wanted to pull that cranky buzzard's tail feathers until he squawked! The beastly, nasty thing!" Emily stabbed viciously at the tart, "The nerve of him, really! All over a little bottle of potion that offended his tender, virgin nose!"

Missy laughed, "Lovey, I doubt any part of Snape should even be in the same sentence as the appellation of 'virgin' – unless you're speaking of his conscience, his ethics or his morals, all of which seem to be unused and still in the wrapping." Her voice suddenly took on a sticky-sweet tone, "Now, unfluff and be a good ickle Emmy for the big, bad professor."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Sometimes, you insane Malfoy, I dream of drowning you in your own cauldron."

~

The detention – though only three hours – seemed an eternity to Emily. When she arrived in the Potions classroom, Snape was at his desk – bottle of blood red ink at elbow as he graded papers. Snape simply made a curt gesture at a pile of cauldrons on the draining board of the basin. 

Emily returned the gesture with the barest dip of her chin and went to scrub the damned cauldrons. 

There were no sounds other than the scratch of Snape's quill on parchment, the running of water and the rasp Emily's scrubbing brush. The silence actually seemed to be a physical thing, so thick and heavy that it was like moving in quicksand. She did not favor the Potions Master with so much as a glance or a turn of the head, for all the world behaving as if she were here by choice and completely alone. 

The hands on the clock stood at a quarter to ten when Emily laid the last cauldron on the draining board along with her scrubbing brush. The scratch of quill paused as she stretched the ache out of her lower back and rolled her shoulders, then  resumed as she turned to face the man behind the desk.

His attention seemed to be fully occupied by the papers, even though Emily knew it was not. Placing herself directly in front of the desk, she waited.

And waited.

She did not fidget, she refused to sigh, and the longer the minutes stretched, the more steadfast Emily became. The Mayborne family device was that of an oak on a field of silver – and like an oak, Emily's stubborn streak was more deeply rooted than most might imagine. 

~

Severus Snape was genuinely puzzled. 

He was usually a fair judge of disposition and character – to survive Slytherin it was not only a prerequisite to know your enemy, but your friends as well. Yet, despite years of honing his instinct, he seemed to have made a massive mistake in reading a mere girl-child. 

Emily Rowan Mayborne, age fourteen. Ravenclaw fourth-year. She made good to excellent marks that she worked very hard for, but was not ostentatiously brainy. Her friends were few, but very close. In demeanor, she was quiet, bookish, and always seemed slightly distracted – other than the occasional flare of temper, she was one of his easiest pupils to handle. She did as she was told, when she was told, and seldom said much of anything that was not related to the class at hand. 

Until this morning. 

If one of the last things he had ever expected was a classroom that smelled like a whorehouse, the second-to-last thing he expected was for Emily Mayborne to be the instigator of such foolery. And the very last thing he could have imagined was the girl not only telling him to go to hell but also calling him a series of nasty names as he hauled her off to her head of house. 

In his day that girl would have been switched until she howled – this Severus knew from personal experience, just as he knew the taste of every brand of soap sold in Hogsmeade by the end of his first year. 

At least she had the integrity to refuse to tender a coerced apology, even if it would have reduced her detention. 

Still, it was highly irritating to have her disrupt his perceptions of her. Severus expected the girl to skip dinner or come creeping in as meek as a mouse after having lost Ravenclaw such a hefty chunk of points. Instead, she had come in as proud as a queen – head high and with an arrogance better suited to someone many year her senior. Severus hadn't missed the cool glare and the dismissive flick of her robes, either. 

When Miss Mayborne reported for her detention, it was with a detached indifference that he found purely infuriating. The scant nod of her head was barely acknowledgement of his station, and once her back had been to him she might as well have been here alone.

It would not do. 

So, once she had finished the night's task, he made her wait. 

And wait.

The girl stood in front of his desk a full fifteen minutes, neither moving or saying a word. 

However, Miss Mayborne was far too young to have mastered her expressions completely, and if one knew what to look for, she was an open book. The careful breathing, the faint slash between her eyebrows, the tilt of the head all told Severus Snape one thing.

He was really pissing her off.

Carefully, he set aside the essay that he had just top-to-bottomed in red ink and turned his regard to his mutinous student. The clock struck the hour as he held her gaze, not looking away until the last chime faded into the cold air.

"Extinguish the torches on your way out, Miss Mayborne. Good evening." With that, he rose and swept down the steps from the dais to the door of his office, pausing, he turned. "And, Miss Mayborne? From where did you obtain that potion?"

The girl paused, one foot already in the hallway and regarded him with slightly upturned lips. Then she flipped her hand at the torches, snuffing them with a muttered "_Incendiabdo_," leaving him in the dark.

Round one, to Emily Mayborne, on points. 

No. This really would not do at all. 

~

The Foolery Continues… 


	3. Chapter three: The Battle is Joined

Dear readers,

Here is the latest bit. Sorry to be so long without updating, but I have been working on building a website! You can find me at;

I hope that you enjoy the new bit, and please let me know what you think!

Sincerely,

Chaos

~

The Warming Potion Incident

The Battle is Joined

~

The concoction – Severus could not bring himself to call it a potion – was unremarkable. One of the milder aphrodisiacs, a calefactive coupled with a mild irritant, and a vasodilator to support the increased blood flow – all in an too-strongly scented emollient base.  

Child's play.

But not for children! 

Severus gave the provocatively shaped bottle a resentful glare. Madam Plushbottom, indeed! 

The aphrodisiac might account for Emily's uncharacteristic burst of temper – puberty was hellish enough without spitting petrol on the hormonal flames. If the girl had an itch, though, Artemisia Malfoy would be very glad to help scratch. The daughter of his old friend had been more than usually affectionate of late - grabbing Emily, kissing her, practically wearing her on certain occasions.

It was the Malfoy 'MineMineMine!' mating dance, a precursor to vigorous coition, and Miss Mayborne did not seem discomfited or even to mind at all. 

Fool child. 

Then again, the girl was such the model of a Ravenclaw that she might not even be aware of what was going on. From an overheard discussion amongst some fifth and sixth year male Slytherin, the child had some startling blind spots. 

His wayward memory elected to produce some sordid details of his own teen years. Severus chose to virtuously ignore them and he was not either a hypocrite! 

All the same, the girl was not acting in her accustomed fashion and that was unaccountably annoying to him. He had ten evenings to prod her back into line, and back into line she would go. While Severus suspected that Miss Mayborne might have a bit more backbone than he had previously thought, it was not to be strengthened at his expense. If the child needed a joust of wills, perhaps being knocked on her metaphorical arse a few times would keep her biddable.  

~

Emily dressed for her day with the air of a warrior going into battle. 

Her dorm mates watched in utter fascination as she came marching back from the showers, smelling so extravagantly of sugar cookies that they were actually hungry. Clothing herself in her skirt, tights, shirt and jumper she was so unaccountably grim that it was truly startling. The final touch was a pair of satin ribbons in blue and bronze, tied into her hair like a banner of challenge. 

"See how he likes that, the old bat. Keep me standing about, will you? Bastard." Opening her trunk, Emily removed a bottle, a dropper and a case of phials. Sitting deliberately on her bed, she proceeded to transfer the bottle's contents into the small phials until the bottle was empty and the room was scented with Omniberry. "How's this for your nose? Eh? Hope it falls off in offense!"

By the time Emily entered the common room, robe swirling, there was a crowd awaiting her. 

Eric Pangley chuckled, "If you're going down, it might as well be in flames?"

"It's a harmless little handwarming potion!" Emily protested.

"So I've heard, but what are you going to do if Snape decides to make a crusade out of it?" The tall, thin boy looked concerned, "It's not all about house points, not at all, but Emmy – the man is vicious!"

"He's a bully and a bastard and I'm not backing down!" 

The Ravenclaws were fascinated. Emily Mayborne – usually as inoffensive and mild as bread pudding – had suddenly gone flambé. 

Reaching into her bag, the girl pulled out a handful of phials. "I think the sixth years have him today, right? Here, each phial has enough to get you through an hour. Apply it when your hands are really cold. He might be able to guess where it came from, but won't be able to prove it."

A small crowd surged around here, even Eric too a phial without so much as a murmur. 

On the way to the Great Hall, and all the way through breakfast she was being approached by Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Slytherins – all of them looking for a bit of the 'warming stuff.' Sickles were pressed into her hands and slipped into her skirt pockets until her book bag was empty. 

"Get more, Emmy."

"I can have my older sister pick it up and give it to me next weekend in Hogsmeade."

"If you need some more phials…"

All through breakfast, Snape watched her with half-lidded eyes, face expressionless. There was the feeling of an impending storm in the air and as she rose to go she made sure to catch his gaze with hers.

Donning her most polite smile, she nodded a 'good morning' to the sour-faced man and with great deliberation pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose.

With her middle finger. 

~

So. It was to be war. A war declared by a mere chit of a girl right over crusts of his toast and his second cup of coffee. 

There must be something else in that libidinous brew – he'd run some more tests on the dregs that were left.

Severus still couldn't believe that she had flipped him off. This was beyond cheek! Moreover, she had done it in such a subtle way that he could not call her on it. 

Throwing his napkin down on his plate, he stalked from the Great Hall in a swirl of robes and temper. 

The first class of the morning was sixth-year Ravenclaws and Slytherins. By far his favorite houses to teach, the combination of ambition and voracious intellectual appetite was stimulating. Oh, there were a few dolts, but they were paired with lab partners who knew what they were doing. Severus had memories of his own years as a student – the incident John Trotter and Cyril Beauchamp so thoroughly blowing up the classroom that classes had been cancelled until all the furniture could be replaced. 

A _Reparo_ could usually fix what was broken – and when it couldn't it was generally indicative of an unalloyed catastrophe. 

Halfway through the lecture on proscribed materials, he thought that he smelled something odd. 

Five minutes later he was certain of it - sweet, fruity scent almost tinted the air purple. 

As if unaware, Severus continued his lecture - watching covertly as a student would stop their note taking, and slip ashy-cold hands out of sight under the desk. The Omniberry scent would increase fractionally, and warm hands would resume note taking. 

Rage flowed along his veins and it was everything he could do not to explode on the spot. 

That girl! That insubordinate and rebellious infant, quite literally flaunting her defiance under his very nose! If this morning had been the declaration of war after yesterday's skirmishing – this was battle joined. 

Without so much as raising his voice, Severus touched his hand to his wand. "_Accio_ warming potion!" 

…and was nearly mown down by a blizzard of quarter-dram phials. 

_That seditious little hoyden._

"So." The classroom was a silent as a catacomb, with the students as still as the occupants. "From where did you obtain this substance?"

Only silence, pale faces and shifting eyes met his question as he gazed about the room. The Ravenclaws were keeping silent out of house loyalty, that he understood, but his Slytherins! It seemed that they were weighing the wrath of their head of house against the future benefits of warm hands.

Sedition indeed. 

Severus scanned the room, watching as his silence bore down on the assembled students. Shoulders twitched, nervous tongues licked lips, and fingers fiddled with quills. 

It was a tight political game that he had to play with Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Alumni of the two houses intermarried often enough that almost a third of the Slytherin students had a Ravenclaw parent and a fifth of the Ravenclaws had a Slytherin parent. 

He counted phials. Thirty-four. 

"Detention for the lot of you for two days. I believe that Master Filch will have something to suitably warm your hands with work instead of questionable concoctions."

His next class – Hufflepuff and Gryffindor fifth years - was not so fortunate. This time the scent was pumpkin pie and the punishment cost three house points from each house per phial and four days detention for the entire class.

Filch came by to thank him profusely. The caretaker was mucking out the lowest levels of the dungeons and needed plenty of help.

The third class of the day was Ravenclaw and Slytherin first years – as yet too timid to even look at him – and there were no odd scents. To keep them in line he assigned extra work and handed out random detentions. By the time they raced for the door, all were suitably traumatized. 

The Advanced students were doing laboratory work for the last class of the day and by the time they finished Severus was almost in a good mood. There were only twelve students in his advanced class, but he gloated over them as if over a treasure hoard. He was taking great pains to see them appropriately placed after they left school, and it was no small affair of pride that some of the top masters of the field were interested in the youngsters. Gringotts had sent letters of inquiry, as had Gadget, Widget and MacGuffin – both firms asking for those with an adventurous rather than an academic bent. 

Teaching could be very satisfying. Perhaps Albus was… 

Well, not as wrong as Severus thought he might have been about it.

Dinner saw more of the coming-and-goings from the Ravenclaw table, and with a bit of shadow-stalking, Severus was able to see students waylaying Emily Mayborne in the halls. 

It seemed, from what whispers he could overhear, that though the wretched minx had purchased a plentiful quantity the demand was outstripping supply. What she intended to do about it was not clear, however.

"Look, I can't do this right now. I have detention with that bloody nightmare of a man and if I'm late…"

Severus slipped down to his dungeons with a smile on his face.

~

Promptly at seven o'clock, Emily entered the Potions classroom.

Snape was once more at his desk, pile of papers, quill and red ink at the ready. He acknowledged her presence with another curt gesture, this time to a bucket sitting on the drainboard of the basin. Emily returned the gesture with a chin-dip and went to her task, rolling up her sleeves as she went. As she tipped the bucket to peer inside, she had to literally bite her tongue to allay the fit of blue language that was her first impulse. 

Filling the two-gallon bucket to the rim were quarter-dram glass phials – hundreds of them. A small brush with the circumference of an ear swab and a bottle of green soap sat on the sponge rest.

Tamping down her annoyance, she took deep, calm breaths, refusing to give him the satisfaction of letting Snape see her provoked. The man was a torment!

Behind her, the skritch-skritch of quill on parchment began, marking the beginning of the night. 

~

From time to time, Severus looked up from his eviscerating his third-years essays on the history of and uses for _Atropa belladonna_. Miss Mayborne was intent on her task, meticulously soaking, swabbing and rinsing the bottles, seals and caps. 

The girl was also attempting to ignore him out of existence.

He stared at the back of her neck until her shoulders twitched and then resumed his grading. 

The process was much the same for the next three hours. At random times, Severus would stop grading, quill poised, and stare at her hard enough to drive nails. The girl could feel it, her shoulders would shrug minutely, her head would almost – but not quite – turn. If he caught her gaze, Severus would verbally rip her to shreds. Time after time, Emily Mayborne denied him the opportunity. 

It was maddening._ She_ was maddening. 

At length, the was bucket empty, the sink drained and all the phials in their wire mesh drying racks. Emily wiped her hands on a towel and tuned to him, obviously prepared for another wait like the one last night. 

Seemingly intent on his grading, he watched as the girl slipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out a small one-inch jar. As she emptied the contents into her hand and began to rub it into her hands and forearms, the room was filled with the scent of sugar cookies. 

"Miss Mayborne!" Severus' roar of outrage could probably be heard in Gryffindor tower. The sheer brassy nerve of the girl! Storming out from behind his desk, he held out his hand. "Turn that over at once!"

Eyes blazing, Emily threw the tiny jar right at his head and he snatched it out of the air. "It's a lotion, you ogre! It's called body butter and it's for dry skin!"

Severus clenched his hand around the jar hard enough to feel the edges bruising his palm. The girl could not possibly be this much of an innocent! Darting out a hand, he grasped the girl by the upper arm and started to towed her – resisting him every step of the way – to his office. 

Once there, Severus kicked a chair under her and sat her in it none too gently. 

She looked up at him and questioned his parentage.

"In my day, Miss Mayborne, I would have been well within my rights to have you switched for that until you howled." The girl responded with a glare to the soft tone and hard words. "However, since it is an arguably more enlightened time, I will simply add another three days detention and assume that you must be enjoying my company."

Miss Mayborne made an outrageous speculation about his personal habits. 

"Make that five days. Open that mouth with less than appropriate respect, girl, and it will add another day and subtract ten points from Ravenclaw."

Emily had not yet mastered a killing look, but if glares could inflict physical damage he'd have been copiously scratched. 

Letting go of her arm, Severus rounded his desk and settled himself in his chair. He rested his elbows on the blotter, steepled his fingers and regarded this puzzling child over his fingertips. Miss Mayborne tried admirably to return the regard, her gaze faltering in the silence.

"I wonder, Miss Mayborne, that you are so dangerously naïve. You accept substances of highly questionable origin with scarcely a quiver of your nose, and have the brass to question my expertise on said substances." He weighed each word carefully, never raising his voice, watching the impact. "You disrupt my classes with ostentatious odors, you distribute these suspect materials to your classmates in open defiance of my edict. When I exercise my authority, indeed my obligation, to discourage you from engaging in wayward behaviour that might have consequences you are vastly unprepared to face, you become even more openly recalcitrant."

By the time the last word left his lips, Miss Mayborne was openly discomfited - her gaze dropped, shoulders slightly slumped, a thin trace of pink shame gilding her cheekbones. Much better.

Reaching into his desk drawer, Severus produced the bottle he had confiscated on the previous day and set the blasted thing on the blotter. Anyone could see what the bottle represented! Anyone! 

"I wonder, Miss Mayborne, could you could tell if the shape of this bottle resembles… anything to you?" Severus cursed inwardly; this was bloody awkward!

The girl's brow furrowed slightly as she leant forward and picked up the bottle, cupping it in the palm of her hand. The curves of it filled her spread fingers and Severus was suddenly very glad to be safely behind his desk when she ran her thumb over the domed top of it. He darted a sharp glance at her face and saw nothing but concentration. There was no flirtatious ingenuity, no guile – she was simply doing what he had obliquely asked her to do and studying the bottle.

Professors always had a student or three who would 'do anything' to better their grade – usually anything but work. Miss Mayborne was a student whom he was considering for Advanced standing and any hint of the 'do anything mentality' would have scuttled that notion. 

A smile broke across the girl's face. "I know what it looks like! I'm surprised I didn't make the connection before! Maybe Missy is right."

This was hardly the reaction Severus expected. Flame-cheeked adolescent mortification would have been acceptable.

"And what does it resemble to your young eyes, Miss Mayborne?" He nearly stopped breathing as Emily's thumb caressed the impudent protuberance that served as the cap.

"It looks like a cupcake. Doesn't it? One with a candied cherry or a gumdrop on top!"

Suddenly, Severus had a searing headache. "You may go, Miss Mayborne. Good evening."

~

TBC


	4. Chapter four: Undercover Operation

Sorry about the long wait between chapters. More as soon as I can.

~

The Warming Potion Incident

Chapter 4

~

The proprietress received the owl with some surprise. It was unusual for a client to commit their desires to writing, but once she opened the letter she understood.

The girl. 

Well, far from having a laugh at the little rich girl's expense, it appeared that there was an unexpected market for the warming potion outside of the usual. It also appeared that the girl was a sharp negotiator. Violet Plushbottom owled back her counteroffer and hummed happily at the thought of all those Sickles rolling in during her slow season.

~

It took some thinking for Emily to come up with a suitable cover for her contraband. A visit to Eve's Leaves allowed her to buy something that no male would be able to search with impunity – fancy knickers. 

Pretty things with cute prints, ribbons, embroidery, and lace were purchased and tucked into bags with Eve's fig-leaf logo. Emily carefully hid the potion bottles in the pretty panties, brassieres, camisoles, and slips before setting off down High Street. Head high, she could feel a bit of heat in her cheeks and hoped that the redness would be ascribed to the cold.  When she had been trying these things on, she'd been surprised to have some heretofore-vague thoughts become unsettlingly sharp. She especially thought that Missy would like the green silk with silver embroidery – and that she really might like to show them to her. 

Everyone thought she was naïve, but Emily knew that her feelings toward her friend were of a warmer sort. Missy loved to tease and play, grab bum and get kissy, but sometimes there was a look in those grey eyes that made every thing below Emily's waist just go to hot jelly. And sometimes, in the privacy of her bed, Emily did more than think about what might happen if Missy were to kiss her for real. 

The ride up to the school was uneventful, and Emily took the chance to gather herself for the second stage of the operation. Once she set foot out of the carriage, Snape would be waiting to pounce. The bloody man had been popping up everywhere for the last week, staring at her as if trying to see through her skull to her thoughts.  He was sarcastic, nasty, and rude at every opportunity, giving her detention if she so much as breathed wrong.  The smile on her face felt more like a baring of teeth. If Snape wanted a contest of wills, she'd give him her level best. 

~

Severus prowled the entry hall as the carriages came back from Hogsmeade, keeping an eye out for the Mayborne chit. 

Two weeks of detention had done little to put the girl back to her normal, tractable state. Indeed, it seemed that every night of detention served to stiffen her resolve. Ravenclaw blue-and-bronze ribbons in her hair were more like a banner of challenge than a schoolgirlish affectation, and though excruciatingly correct in her manners, her demeanor was another thing entirely. Rebellion was budding, and Severus was of a mind to nip it there and then. 

A swirl of blue wool announced Miss Mayborne's presence and Severus assessed her sourly. If there were any chance that the girl would be smuggling contraband potions, today would be it. 

He placed himself right in her way and she stopped, looking up at him. "Miss Mayborne." 

"Professor Snape. Good evening, sir." 

There was a feral spark in her eye that was all too common of late. It was recalcitrance, her thinking that at just fifteen, she had a firm grip on the realities of the world. The naïf could not possibly know what dangers lurked for the unwary, and she was too damned stubborn to heed the wisdom of her elders. If Albus hadn't done away with corporal punishment, Severus was of the mind to apply the birch to drive the lesson home.

"Your shopping trip to Hogsmeade went well, I trust." He counted five bags of goods – Gladrags, Dervish & Banges, Whigmaleerie's Rare Books, Honeydukes, and Eve's Leaves. Eve's Leaves? It was no secret that Eve sold some of the most… hmm… _advanced_ undergarments available to witchdom. The girl was heading down the road to ruin at a gallop! 

"Quite well, sir." A pleased smile curved her lips and was wiped away as he spoke.

"Then you'll not object if I inspect at the spoils? After all, your propensity for obtaining and distributing questionable substances in direct contravention of my edicts is now quite familiar to me." 

Seething, she handed over the Honeydukes bag first – it contained nothing more than chocolates. Dervish and & Banges contained simple school supplies, including a small copper cauldron and flasks of aromatics. There was a set of dress robes and some fripperies in the Gladrags bag – the girl had entirely too much spending money from her aunt.

Was it his imagination or was she reluctant to hand him the Whigmaleerie's bag? Severus secured the bag with a firm tug and opened it. 

"Well, what have we here, Miss Mayborne?" What we had was yet more evidence of sheer willfulness. He'd have to put her in his advanced classes just to keep a closer eye on her if she had progressed this far without his knowledge. "The Ayurvedic Herbal; a Practical Guide for the Student – quite advanced for your age and level of learning, is it not?  In Her Space; Rituals of Female-Centered Magic – this is entirely inappropriate for a girl of fifteen. I'll have to speak with Professor McGonagall about this, as she has jurisdiction over female matters." That thought of what a too-bright child could whip up just with the guidance with those two volumes made him shudder. He reached into the bag for the third book, "Cerridwen's Essence; the Role of Women in the Alchemical Arts. Miss Mayborne, this book, all of these books encompass a type of magical knowledge that can quite easily be put to nefarious use. I question your need of them – and your intent."

Emily Mayborne lifted her chin, and spoke with that shiny new hauteur. "My choice of reading material is none of your concern, Professor. Those books were sold to me by Master Whigmaleerie himself, feel free to take it up with him." A note of steel chimed under the tinsel of her bravado, "I'll have my property back now that you're done."

"Oh, but I am not done, Miss Mayborne. Not at all. I believe that there is one more bag left." He smiled, reaching for the green bag clenched in the girl's white-knuckled fist. This time he did not imagine it – there was resistance. "Now, girl, or lose points and gain yet more evenings in my company." She was scarlet with rage, shaking with it, and for a moment, Severus had to wonder if she'd be fool enough to strike at him. 

As it turned out, her retaliation was one that he had never imagined, and it echoed all through the hall, leaving dead silence in its wake.

"Get your hands off my knickers, you terrible man!"

~

"Get your hands off my knickers, you terrible man!"

Snape reeled back as if she'd gut-punched him. His eyes popped, and his eyebrows flew halfway to his hairline as all the breath left his body in a rush. He did not, however, let go of the bag.

"Leave my knickers alone! What do you think you're doing, putting your mitts all over them!"  She yanked the bag hard, tearing it from his grip. "There are limits to everyone's behavior, sir, and the state of my knickers is none of your concern!"

The larger portion of the student body was watching, slack-jawed and silent as Snape's jaw worked, trying to find words to refute Emily's diversion. Emily knew from experience that just mentioning the word 'knickers' around a boy dropped their intelligence by a marked degree – she pressed her attack, advancing on the professor, brandishing the bag of underthings like a mace. 

"How dare you, sir, presume to even put your hands on my knickers, much less think that I would permit you to paw through them in front of the whole school! What do you take me for?"

Snape's answer was forestalled by the arrival of Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster, who came parting the students before them in a bow wave. 

"What in Merlin's name is going on here? Who is in whose… Severus? What?" Professor McGonagall looked at each of them in turn.

Emily spoke even as Snape was taking a breath to respond. "I went shopping in Hogsmeade and Professor Snape said he was going through my bags to look for contraband. He confiscated my books and then he wanted to look at my…" There was a blush rising into her face so hot that it hurt. "He wanted to look at the… things from Eve's. My new… things."

"I laid not a finger upon her kni… und… things!" Snape's face was a discernable shade of pink and he glared right at her. "Miss Mayborne has a history of importing potions of dubious origin, and has now taken it upon herself to advance her education in some questionable ways." He handed the books to Minerva, whose lips thinned in a most satisfactory fashion.

"Master Whigmaleerie sold me those books, he even recommended them!" Miss Mayborne's protest was aggressive, and not lost on either Albus or Minerva. "He said they were for students. I'm a student, I paid for them, and hence, those books are mine."

The Headmaster took the books, studying the titles on the spines, his brow furrowing with concern. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion in my office. Minerva, please find Filius and have him join us? Emily, Professor Snape? Come with me, please."

~

Albus Dumbledore stared over the tips of his fingers at his latest set of problems. Severus was reacting to what he perceived as another bright youngster heading down the path that he and his friends had taken not so long ago. Severus felt the girl was dangerously naïve, and needed protection – in the form of detentions and tight supervision. To a certain extent, Albus agreed with him, some youngsters retained an innocence about sexual matters even when in the throes of puberty. It appeared that young Emily was one such – though Albus agreed that the bottle did look like a cupcake with a gumdrop on top. 

Still, two of the three books that young Emily had in her possession were highly advanced magical texts, and Albus would have sharp words for Malcolm Whigmaleerie. The magic within the very least of them segued from simple workings into _altus arcana_ with little to warn the uninitiated. It was a serious matter when a youngster decided to tackle high-level magic without also having the resources in place to handle the possible consequences – and his own potions master was living proof of the aftermath. Quite aside from that issue, the rituals in the book of female-centered magic assumed a degree of emotional maturity and sexual readiness that Emily simply did not possess at this time. However woman-shaped and intelligent, she was still an inexperienced child – and the knowledge in those books could well destroy her.

At the moment, though, the girl was distinctly unnerved. While Severus might be able to get her wind up – and she his, for that matter – Emily was now dealing with the combined scrutiny of four powerful adult wizards. 

"No, I don't understand your objections at all! Knowledge hurts no one, only the purposes to which knowledge is applied can do that!" Emily was standing with arms folded and chin high, giving Severus glare for glare. 

"Woman in speech, infant in reasoning and experience! You have no idea what it is that you are playing with, Miss Mayborne, or what it might do to you." 

Albus interrupted before Emily could earn herself another detention with her response – thus far she was in for three. "I was unaware that Miss Mayborne was so advanced in her studies that she would be able to make use of these books. Were you, Severus?"

It took Severus a deep breath to get himself under control. "No, Headmaster, I was not aware. Then again, Miss Mayborne is quite the little _contrabandière_ – it's very hard to tell what she's doing unless you can manage to catch her in the act."

Filius cleared his throat, "While I can certainly understand objections to the other books, I see no real danger from permitting her to retain access to the Herbal – but only under strict supervision."

Oh, how the old forgot the ups and downs of youth! In the space of that one sentence, the child had gone from anger to elation, then to utter dejection. Albus spoke next, taking a calculated risk as he did so – he was about to combine to highly volatile elements and it might well blow up in his face. "I'm certain that Professor Sprout will be more than happy to assist Miss Mayborne in her study of that particular book."

As Albus had hoped, Severus protested, "Professor Sprout is an expert in her field, but her experience is only with cultivation – she has little idea of their properties in actual use. I do not think that Miss Mayborne is best supervised by someone who lacks that essential knowledge!" 

"Well, the ayurvedic teachings relate primarily to healing?" Minerva asked. "Perhaps Madam Pomfrey would be best – she is a healer of power and experience, surely she understands the properties of such things?"

Emily looked hopeful at that, only to have Severus ride right over her.

"While I might consider the professional abilities of Madam Pomfrey to be without peer, she does not compound most of the remedies she uses. Severus turned his gaze on Miss Mayborne once more, "And she hardly has the time to supervise this one to the extent that she obviously requires." 

Albus smiled, "Well, Severus, I'd say that you've narrowed the field quite nicely."

~

It was not to be borne! 

Severus slammed the door to his rooms behind him and indulged in a fit of cursing that should have scorched the stone walls. How neatly the old coot had maneuvered him! Even worse, he'd not been able to get a clear look at the deceitful girl's mind – all that he could see was an image of her strangling him. It was not a memory, but a heartfelt desire that blocked his legilimens as effectively as a trained occlumens might.

On top of all that, the wretched girl had been permitted to leave without a thorough search of her bag – and Minerva had taken him to task afterward!

"Severus, I understand your concern, but you must temper your zeal with a little understanding. It's a difficult age – she's too old to be a child, to young to be a woman – any intrusion by a man is going to be met with either teeth and claws or a purr and a flick of her tail." The old witch fixed him in place with a glare and a raised finger, "And it had better be met with teeth and claws, Severus, if you take my meaning."

Growling, he flung himself into a chair – he was the youngest member of the staff by some three decades, and when it came to sex, they all treated him as a hormonal adolescent. He was twenty-bloody-eight, not a fool of seventeen!

Now he had the blasted heathen child in his Advanced Class and for tutoring one night per week. Well, he'd not coddle her, and what's more, he would work her until she begged to go back to regular classes. 

Severus' smile was grim - the little hellion was in for an even longer year than he was – he'd make sure of it.

~


End file.
